I Dare You
by eksley05
Summary: Sometimes a stupid dare is just what people need. Oneshot, Kystophe.


**A/N: Argh, this is awful. I'm really, really sorry.  
****It started out as a Kystophe for ChapeauVert, because I owe her one, but I don't know...if this is really worthy. Although, you know, CV, if you like it, it's totally dedicated to you forever.  
****Anyway...try not to let this burn your eyeballs out of their sockets or anything. **

* * *

It was amazing, really, how something as simple and stupid as a dare could change lives forever. Up until the summer after high school graduation, I hadn't thought something like that was possible. Dares were just stupid things we did, to see what kind of humiliating things we could make other people do. Usually they involved Kenny, who didn't seem to mind degrading himself as long as he got something out of it, or Cartman, because he always deserved humiliation anyway. But it was always lame things, like one time, Clyde dared Kenny to sneak a rat into the cafeteria kitchen (he did), or another time, Stan dared Cartman to go one day without belittling the Jews (he couldn't). Nothing life-changing.

Until Clyde had his party.

I guess technically, it was Craig's party; he had done the inviting, after all. But Clyde's parents were out of town for a week, so it just made sense to hold it at his house. It was going to be more than just a typical high school party. After all, high school and all of its drama bullshit was _over, _college was coming, we were all growing up. This was our last summer to act like, well, teenagers; in two months, everything would be different. Nobody said anything out loud, but I knew we were all a little apprehensive about it. Craig flipped people off more than usual, Tweek drank three extra cups of coffee a day, Stan and Wendy broke up and got back together twice a week. We were all tense. We needed _some _way to blow off steam.

It was a Friday in the middle of July. We'd all only been at Clyde's for about two hours, but things were already getting pretty wild. It wasn't like we were getting drunk out of our minds and terrorizing the neighbourhood or anything like that, though. Not that we weren't drinking; Craig had fake ID'd his way into getting enough alcohol for a small army, which was just about enough for a houseful of teenagers who had just realized that they were finally free. It was a pretty epic party, by typical South Park standards. Damien was DJing like a pro; Pip was drinking gin like it was tea; Wendy broke up with Stan for the third time that day and started making out with Bebe only to come to Stan an hour later completely smashed and bawling her eyes out. It was all stuff I'd seen before, but it seemed different this time. More special, somehow. As the night went on, I found myself wishing that I could go back in time to before graduation, just so I could have more of these moments—everyone having a good time together, and getting along. Even Cartman wasn't starting fights.

It was about two in the morning, when people started either leaving or passing out in random areas of Clyde's house, when we somehow gravitated towards Clyde's living room. I was slumped on one of the Donovan's couches, drinking more watermelon vodka than was probably good for me straight out of the bottle. Stan was half-passed out on my left, and Cartman was sitting on the floor on my right, leaning against the couch. Kenny was lying on his back on the coffee table in front of us, singing along to the music. He seemed pretty sober for someone who'd downed almost an entire litre of Crown Royal. (When I think about it now, it's amazing that Kenny's never ended up dying from alcohol poisoning. ) On the couch across from us, Clyde was sprawled half on the piece of furniture, and half on the floor. An empty bottle of spiced rum lay beside him. Tweek was curled up on the couch, asleep, with his head in Craig's lap. Craig actually seemed to be kind of sober himself, but he'd always been able to handle his alcohol better than most. He had the TV remote in his hand, and was flicking through the channels. Christophe was alone in the corner, smoking.

Cartman was the one to really start things. Craig had finally settled on a old episode of Red Racer, and was watching it intently. While engrossed in the show, he had (unconsciously or not, I'm still not sure) started petting Tweek's hair, like the blond was Craig's favourite puppy, or something.

"Jesus, Clyde!" Cartman said loudly. I jumped in surprise, almost dropping my bottle of vodka. He was sneering at Craig. "Why the hell did you invite _fags _to your party?"

"S'not my party!" Clyde exclaimed, then burst out laughing. He slipped off the couch and landed on the floor with a thud. "Snot!"

"Shut up, Fatass," I said, trying to swing my leg over to kick Cartman. My aim was off, though, and I ended up kicking air, and losing my balance, tipping over and landing facedown on the empty half of the couch. I stayed there for a little while, my head spinning like a dreidel on crack. Yeah. Way too much vodka.

When I finally felt like I could move without reintroducing the vodka in my stomach to the outside world, I slowly lifted myself up in time to hear Stan slur, "Thaaaa's my _best friend_ yer talk – talkin' 'bout."

"Huh?" I looked around, trying not to move my head too much. "Me?"

"_He _said," Stan waved his arm around in the air, and it was hard to tell who he was pointing at. "He _said _that _you _were a—" He hiccupped. "A _fag_!"

At some point, Kenny had sat up on the table. He shrugged, now. "Who says that's really a bad thing?"

"_You're _a fag!" Cartman declared, pointing triumphantly at Kenny.

Kenny shook his head, grinning. "No, dumbass, I'm bi."

"Yeah, a bi _fag!_"

Clyde snorted with laughter. "Bye, fag!" He waved at Kenny from where he was lying on the floor.

"Bi fag. Jew fag. and fag fag!" Cartman pointed at Kenny, then me, and then Craig, who flipped him off without taking his eyes off Red Racer. Cartman tried to flip him off right back, but stuck his pinkie finger in the air instead. But before anyone had a chance to make fun of him for it, he turned back to me and announced, "See? Jew fag's not even denying it!"

I opened my mouth to say something, but Kenny beat me to it.

"I've seen the way you look at Butters," he said to Cartman, raising an eyebrow. "Maybe _you're _not as straight as you say." He let Cartman sputter for a few seconds, before continuing, "I bet I know how we could find out, though." He nodded in the direction of Clyde, who was now mumbling incoherently to himself and giggling. "Kiss Clyde."

"Sick!" Cartman yelled. I snickered, and he turned to glare at me. "Shut up, Jew!"

"Come on," Kenny insisted. "He's drunk off his ass, he'll never remember it in the morning. Just do it and then tell us you're not gay."

"How the fuck does me kissing a dude make me _not gay_?"

"If you don't enjoy it," Kenny said, with a confidence only a drunk who made no sense could have.

"That's fucking retarded!"

Secretly, I agreed with Cartman, but then Kenny said the three magic words.

"I dare you."

Craig actually shut off the TV to pay attention. I heard a cough and looked over to see that even Christophe was watching us. Nobody wanted to miss a chance to see Cartman humiliated. Well, except Tweek, who was sleeping and had no idea what was going on, and Stan, who had finally passed out completely. The rest of us watched Cartman while his eyes darted between Clyde, who apparently still was oblivious, and Kenny.

"Fine," he snapped eventually. I wanted to cheer—I lived for times like these—but his next words stopped me before I had a chance to even open my mouth. "But only if Jewboy does it too."

"Wh – _what_?" I stared at him. "No. No way, Fatass. He dared _you_!"

"And I'm _double _daring _you_, Jew!" Cartman crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at me. "What are you afraid of?"

Goddammit. God_dammit_. I looked at Kenny for help, but he shrugged at me. "A dare's a dare."

"All right, _fine_," I muttered, echoing Cartman from seconds before. "But you do it first."

"Uh-uh, we do it at the same time," Cartman said. "If I have to kiss Clyde, then you have to kiss..." He looked around, then pointed over in the corner. "Frenchy."

_What_? I stared at Cartman, my mouth open. Was he _kidding_?

"Come on, Christophe," Kenny singsonged, gesturing for Christophe to come closer to us. He was _grinning _again, the bastard.

I watched as Christophe shrugged and stood up, crossing the room to sit beside Kenny on the coffee table. Somewhere in the back of my mind I thought it was a little strange that he'd so readily obeyed Kenny, but then again, we _had _all been drinking steadily for almost six hours. He caught my eye and I could feel myself blushing. What the fuck was wrong with me? This was just a stupid dare. I could do it if it meant that Cartman had to make an idiot out of himself. Christophe smirked at me and my stomach twisted. I really wished I hadn't had all that alcohol. Kenny hopped up from the table and pulled Clyde into a sitting position and dragged him across the floor, stopping when he was in front of Cartman. I swallowed, and slowly slid forward until I was sitting right on the edge of the couch.

"On the count of three," Kenny said, standing on the coffee table. "One... Two... Three!"

I closed my eyes and leaned forward. My throat was so dry it hurt. I tried to breathe normally. I was listening for Clyde's reaction, but the second Christophe's lips touched mine, it was like nobody else was even around, as cliché and stupid as that sounds. I'd only kissed three people in my life—Bebe and Rebecca Cotswolds, way back in third grade, and Wendy, last year, at another party, when she'd gotten hammered and decided that she liked me better than Stan (thank God Stan had never found out about that). Somehow, kissing Christophe was better than kissing girls. It just felt...right. I relaxed a little, letting him be the one in control. He tasted like cigarettes, and alcohol, and...amazing. I couldn't believe what was happening, that I was kissing Christophe—no, that he was kissing _me_, and that I was enjoying it. I guess Cartman had been right after all; I _did _have a thing for guys.

Well, one guy anyway, apparently.

When we finally broke apart, I opened my eyes to see him smirking again, three inches from me. I knew I was probably bright red, but I didn't care. I didn't even care when I heard Cartman yell gleefully that he'd _known _I was a fag all along. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kenny kick him in the shins and tell him to shut up, but I wasn't really paying attention. All I really cared about at that moment was Christophe. Was he just following through with the dare, or had he felt something too? It was impossible to tell what was going on behind his dark eyes, until he leaned forward again. My heartbeat sped up as I felt his breath on my neck.

"Come on, Broflovski," he whispered in my ear, and my whole body tingled. "I'll drive you 'ome."

... ... ...

That was last summer. Christophe and I just had our official one year anniversary last week. It's beyond amazing, being in a relationship with him. Nobody could have seen it coming, but I've never been happier than I am when I'm with him. We have our differences—I can't stand his smoking, he hates when I psychoanalyze everything he says—but despite that, we fit. And to think it all started because of Kenny and _Cartman _and a stupid drunken dare.

Most of us are going to college together, here in South Park, so I see people from high school more often than I thought I would. Craig and Tweek are dating now. Sometimes Christophe and I hang out with them, and Stan and Wendy—their relationship is more stable now; they don't constantly break up and get back together anymore, unless Wendy drinks too much. Cartman's still alone, though he is hanging around Butters a lot more than he used to. I'm not sure if it's because the rest of us don't really talk to him anymore, or because there really is something more there. Kenny just died last night, but he'll be back. I see Clyde and Token sometimes, and last I heard Bebe was out in LA trying to get on some soap opera.

So I guess, aside from the obvious, not as much changed as we thought it would, last year. I liked that. It was nice. Craig still has parties every once in awhile, and even though they're less crazy than they had been in high school, it's still fun to get together with everyone. We still dare each other to do stupid stuff, too, but honestly?

That part's more fun when I'm alone with Christophe.


End file.
